You'd Be Surprised
by overthemoon07
Summary: MaureenRoger. Prerent.
1. Chapter 1

She's got this look on her face and he knows something's wrong. Now it's just a matter of getting it out of her. He's got to use his imagination. She'll close up if he's too forward but she won't say anything if he doesn't.

"What's wrong?"

Good job, genius. She cocks her head to the side, brow crumpled, lips twisted into a slight pout, raw from teeth gnawing at them for hours. She crosses her arms over her chest and sighs. She sighed. It's that frustrated "god-you're-insensitive, don't-be-such-a-dick" sigh.

Yeah, he can read her.

Yeah, he knows her that well.

Well, shouldn't he know the woman he's been fucking for the past three months?

"Nothing."

He drops his hands down to his sides, bored, tired of games, tired of guessing, tired of not knowing. He runs a hand through his short bleach blond hair, tugging slightly. God, why does he do that do her? Make her feel guilty for not wanting to talk. She doesn't want to talk. Not about this.

"I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong."

She laughs. It's sad and dark, almost a scoff. He's stupid for thinking he can fix everything. Not everything is that simple. It's not kindergarten and things aren't fixed with band-aids and kisses and promises that booboos will get better. It's not middle school where things are made better with gallons of chocolate ice cream and sleepovers and hours of chick flicks. It's not high school where you can just buy flowers and make out in the back of his truck for hours and then go get Frosties at Wendy's at midnight.

"You can't fix it. It's not that simple."

He tosses his hands in the air, aggravated, flustered by her words. Jesus Christ, he knows it's not that simple. It never is with her. Life isn't black and white, he's figured that much out. He may not be bright, but he knows that life is the biggest fucking grey area and simple is not a word that should exist in the English language.

"Can't you just talk to me?"

"Talk?"

She stares him square in the eye; it's intense, as if she's burning a hole right through him.

"You want to talk?"

He nods. Does she not speak English? Did he not just say that?

"Talk to me."

He grabs her hand, trying to tug her towards him, but she resists, stands still. He lets go and sighs.

"Stop sighing," she orders. "You sound bored with me."

"Bored? Christ, Maureen, I'm so busy trying to keep you happy and figure you out, I've no time to be fucking bored with you. I don't know what you want from me. It was so easy when we started. I'd take you out, we'd get drunk and fuck all night. But now you're just… so far away. Off in your own world. What do you want from me?"

"Is that all I am? Just a drunk fuck?"

That backfired.

"Someone to go to when you can't find anyone else? An easy lay?" Her hands reach out and she shoves him. It's a lot harder than she'd meant it to be and he stumbles backwards, heel catching on the metal table, and he nearly trips.

Her eyes are wide as he steadies himself and he comes after her. She winces, braced for a blow in return. His fingers clasp onto her shoulders and he shakes her lightly. It's not hard and it doesn't hurt. He doesn't hit her. It was never about the sex. Okay, so maybe at first it was. She was the best lay he'd ever had. So good he went back for more. And more. But she's got this smell, like strawberry ice cream, sweet and clean and its stuck on his shirts and he can't get away from it. And there's that way that her dark hair tickles under his chin and around his neck when she sprawls across his chest, naked and tired. He loves the way her hand fits in his, hers small and dainty, his big and protective, tips calloused from guitar strings. She's got that hair flip, too, when she's listening to him babble or fuck around on the guitar, playing absolute shit but she thinks it's great. She just tosses her curls back and tucks it behind an ear. It's not the sex. Hell, it never was. It's just her. Always was.

"You were never a drunk fuck," he states, staring at her, deep green eyes burning holes through her forehead cause she's staring at her feet. "It's you. Just you. All I want, all I need. Now please, just talk to me."

She rips her eyes from the floor and they finally meet his. They're wide and shiny and full of something he's never seen before. Fear. Her lip quivers and she allows her body to collapse into his arms, lets down her guard, and he catches her and holds her, breathing in that strawberry and it's just short of intoxicating and she's crying. God, she's crying. His rough thumb sweeps across her cheek, brushing a stray tear.

"What? Christ, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry." She's sobbing, close to hysterics. "I'm so sorry."

"Just talk."

She takes a shaky breath and pulls away from him, pushing his hands away and he has to wonder what's wrong with him, why he can't hold her and tell her everything will be okay. Her eyes run across his face and she opens her mouth. He strains his ears and awaits her explanation impatiently.

"I'm late."


	2. Chapter Two

"Late?" He stammers. "You're late?"

She doesn't speak, just sits, her nose running, tears slipping off of her cheeks. A shaky hand reaches up and brushes the wetness away.

"Late. You're fucking late." His fists clench and unclench, clench and unclench. "How is that possible?"

"Don't dump this on me," she spats. "I didn't impregnate myself. You asked what was wrong. I wasn't going to say anything."

He whips around and stares at her, anger painting red in his face. She's staring back, tear stained face just as fierce as his. Her green eyes that usually dance with life are clouded and dark, angry, upset.

"Not say anything? Just pop out the kid and not tell me? Oh, Roger, by the way… what the fuck were you thinking?"

"Oh, so it's automatically yours?"

His face drops, paling quickly and his knees feel like Jell-O. "It's not?"

Her jaw clenches. "Of course it is."

Roger lets himself sink onto the ground beside her. "You weren't going to tell me."

"There's a clinic, downtown," she talks over him, staring down at her hands.

"You're gonna-"

"We can't raise this," she cuts him off, voice raising slightly. "Do you see where we live? What money we're making? We live off of coffee and cereal. What kind of life is that?"

Roger's mouth clamps down, he bites his tongue, tastes the blood and swallows hard. "I can get a second job."

"Roger."

"Benny's in line for a raise."

"Roger."

He climbs over to her, sits in front of her, reaches into her lap and holds her hands. "We can move. We can leave the city. I'll get a good job."

"Roger." Her voice is firm. "We can't leave. I won't have you give up performing. Benny can't take care of us. We can't leave."

"We'll get married." He talks as if what she's said is irrelevant, as if he hasn't heard her.

She laughs. It's sad, sardonic, sarcastic, but it's a laugh. Maybe she's thinking about it.

"You don't want to marry me."

"How do you know?"

"You don't. I'm no good for you. And what about Mark?"

Roger knows it would kill Mark if they both left. Hell, it was killing him that his best friend was fucking the love of his life. What would happen if Roger actually loved Maureen? But Roger wants to be selfish. This is the perfect opportunity.

"Maureen, I love you."

That huge lump climbs into her throat and she tries to swallow it but it won't go away. She blinks furiously as tears build on her eyelashes and she stares up at the ceiling, avoiding his brilliant green eyes, the ones that are pleading with her, telling her he loves her, waiting for her to say something. But she doesn't.

"Well?"

"Well what?" she sniffles, pulling her hands from his and she buries her face in them. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about you love me, too?" He frowns slightly, hands on her knees when it comes to him that maybe she doesn't. Maybe he's the easy fuck, just fun for her, a boy toy she hadn't meant to become attached to and this baby, this is a death sentence for her.

"Christ Roger," she murmurs, taking a shaky breath. Her hands fall down, back into his and her lip quivers. "You know I do. I just… love you. I don't know why, but I do."

A smile cracks his lip and a thick calloused thumb swipes across her soft cheek. Her head leans into his touch and he cups her face as she closes her eyes. His scratchy chin rubs against hers as his lips press against hers.

"We shouldn't be…"

"I know," he replies, staring into her eyes. "But we are."

"What are we gonna do?" she asks, covering his hands with her own.

He presses his forehead against hers and sighs. "I dunno. But I promise, everything will be okay, baby. Everything will be okay."


	3. Chapter 3

Maureen wakes slowly, yawning as she rolls onto her back. A warm hand slides under her shirt, over her belly. She grins, eyes closed, and rests her hand over his. There's a strange serenity that she's flooded with, the warm sunlight splashes in and his hand on her stomach and his breath falling on her neck.

"Good morning, beautiful," he croaks, nuzzling her neck.

"Hi baby," she replies, reaching over and combing her fingers through his short hair.

Roger kisses her neck, making her giggle, and then her collar bone, her breast through her shirt, her ribs and lifting her shirt, he kisses her belly. She laughs again, her fingers massaging his scalp gently. He looks up at her, this new look in his eyes, and he smiles, kissing her once more.

"How are you feeling?"

She laughs again, turning her head sideways on the pillow to look at him better. "It's only been three weeks. I feel fine."

"Good," he says, situating himself between her legs, his chin resting gently on her belly. "Can we tell people yet?"

"No," she grins, biting her lip.

"Why not?" he whines.

She crinkles her nose a bit, not answering right away. "Let's just keep it between us." _In case something doesn't work out. In case I'm wrong. In case there's a miscarriage. _Maureen is trying her hardest not to think about the last thing, but she wants to make sure. "You're awfully excited about this."

Roger smiles, it's a bit of a nervous smile, but there's that twinkle in his eye. "Yes, I am," he admits.

"Really?" she asks, perking up a bit.

"Really," he nods. "I mean, I'm scared to death. But we're going to have a baby. You and me. Right there," he says, patting her belly.

Maureen feels a rush of emotions flooding her chest, her eyes brimming as he kissed her belly again. "Roger," she breaths, her fingers combing back through his hair.

He climbs up to meet her face, being careful as he did so and holds her face in his hands and kisses her lips gently and tells her that he loves her and he can't think of anyone else he'd rather be doing this with. He wipes away her tears, kisses her forehead and holds her close.

"I'm going to make you breakfast, okay?"

"Alright," she laughed.

She relaxes back on the bed as Roger skips out, clad only in boxers, a grin plastered on his face.

"You're in an awfully good mood. Especially for morning."

Roger turns his head and laughs softly as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Yes I am, Marky," he chirps, taking a sip. "It's a great day. The sun is shining, I'm in love with a beautiful woman… my best friend is here."

Mark nods and buries himself further into his book, curling up in the laz-y boy Roger and Collins had carried up the many flights of stairs a few weeks before Collins left for school.

Roger begins digging around in the fridge, clanging pots and pans around, throwing items out onto the metal table. Mark finds it difficult to read and peers over the top of his book, watching the rock star destroy the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast," Roger shouts, spinning around the kitchen as he throws things into a metal bowl.

"You mean making a mess?"

"You wanna help?"

Mark doesn't want to help. He doesn't want to help Roger make breakfast for Maureen. He wants to make breakfast for Maureen, but Mark doesn't say that.

"Sure."

"Thanks," Roger grins, licking whatever is on his finger. "Cause I really have no idea what I'm doing."

"No shit," Mark rolls his eyes, shooing Roger out of his way. "You really are in a sickeningly good mood."

Roger dances around the kitchen, grinding up behind Mark.

"Roger! Get off!"

Slowly Maureen shuffles out of the bedroom and leans against the doorjamb, wearing one of Roger's old band t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, watching as Roger dances around Mark. She laughs softly, walking into the kitchen and sneaking up behind Roger, grabbing his hips.

"Leave poor Mark alone," she scolds, giggling as he picks her up. "I'm sorry, Mark, baby," she says as Roger drapes her over his shoulder. She ruffles his hair gently before she's carried off towards the couch, squealing in delight as Roger tickles her. He drops her gently onto the couch, cradling her head with his hand before falling on top of her.

Mark watches quietly from the kitchen as Roger nuzzles her neck, runs his hands over her thighs, kisses her pouty lips… he clangs around under the stove for a pan, throws it up onto the stove and sighs loudly, however the couple seems oblivious to the racket he's making. Of course they are.

"You want another one?"

"Roger, I just finished a third," Maureen shook her head. "You're going to make me explode."

"Yeah, jeez, Rog," Mark agrees, looking slightly concerned.

"I'm just checking," Roger shrugs, dropping the pancake onto his plate instead.

"While you eat like you're a bottom-less pit, I do end at some point," she laughs.

Mark laughs and picks up her paper plate, throwing it out with his.

"I'm going to go shower," she tells Roger, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "I'll be back in a bit."

Roger nods and watches as she disappears into the bathroom. He smiles and forks up another bite of pancake.

"Rog?" Mark shouts, coming back over to the couch. "Is uh.. everything okay with Maur?"

"Uh, yeah," he nods, wiping his face with a paper towel. "Yeah. Why?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "She just ate more than she usually does…"

"Guess she was hungry this morning."

"You were trying to get her to eat more."

"Was just offering."

"She's moving kind of tenderly."

"She's fine," Roger snaps, looking up at Mark.

"Rog, is she-"

"Mark, drop it," Roger says, trying to smile. "She's fine."

Mark nods slowly as Roger stands up and practically sprints into the kitchen, throwing his plate away and then disappearing into the bedroom. Mark shakes his head as the soft twangs of guitar strings floated out from under the door. The song was familiar, he played it a lot lately, something by Clapton. Mark sighs and leans back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. _Is that a crack? Shit._


	4. Chapter 4

Maureen sighs softly as she drops down onto the couch. She hasn't been sleeping well lately, can't keep breakfast down in the morning and Roger thinks Mark's getting suspicious. They should just tell everyone already. She didn't want to. She liked keeping the secret - it was the only thing that was just hers and Roger's.

Everything else they had to share. The shower, the beer, the toilet, the telephone... even their bedroom on occasion. This was theirs. She'd tell when she was ready. _Plus something could still happen_. The voice in her head kept reminding her of that. It was a familiar voice, screechy and full of disapproval.

"Fuck off, mum," she mutters, leaning back on the couch, a cold washcloth draped over her forehead.

_You're not even married. You're having a baby out of wedlock. What will the neighbors think?_

She winces slightly, a sharp pain errupting underneath her nose. Mum always thought about the neighbors, for as long as Maureen could remember. It was 'don't get your dress dirty... don't wear those jeans... don't bring that boy home, that Roger boy... what will the neighbors think?'

"Fuck the neighbors, too."

"Maur?"

Mark creeps slowly out of his bedroom. He's been sitting in his room for days, working on his project, or at least that's what he babbles about when he does leave. And that's only to empty his bladder and grab another cup of coffee. He'd heard her drop down onto the couch. She'd noticed he'd been paying more attention to her lately. He was the only one who called her Maur. It wasn't Mo, like Collins and Benny had taken to call her and Roger just called her baby... Maureen if he was pissed off. She liked Maur.

"Yeah?" she asks, sitting up a bit, the washcloth falling off of her forehead and into her lap.

"Oh, I didn't mean to make you get up," he replies quickly, bolting from his room to the couch. "Lay back down. Do you want something to drink? Or eat?"

She screws up her face, giving him a strange look. He's been like this for the past week or so, wanting to wait on her. She could snap her fingers and he'd be there in a matter of seconds.

"No," she shakes her head. "I'm okay. Migraine."

"Oh," he nods, sitting on the edge of the couch.

Mark's always thought Maureen was gorgeous. Roger was so lucky. Mark wondered if he knew that. Of course he did. Look at her. Her beautiful dark curls that fall around her pale face and her lips... Mark is sure they're soft... and her smile, she steals his heart every time she flashes it. And those eyes, those gorgeous green eyes. He's surprised he can form words around her. Roger was more than lucky. Mark would give almost anything to get her to look at him the way she looks at Roger.

"Actually, would you mind getting me some aspirin?"

"Of course," he nods, bolting from the couch towards the bathroom, leaving her alone on the couch.

He's cute. Roger's lucky to have Mark for a best friend. Mark would do almost anything for Roger. Roger snaps his fingers and Mark's there in a matter of seconds. He's always taking care of everyone, ready to make grocery store runs and make dinner and fetch aspirin when there's a migraine (or a hangover)... He's very sweet and Maureen wonders why he doesn't have a girlfriend. Probably his mother's fault... she's just as bad as Maureen's, always pushing him to find a nice Jewish girl and settle down and raise five children and get a proper job. Good luck with that.

He returns quickly, dropping the white pills into her hand and handing her a glass of water as well. She smiles and takes both, sitting up and swallowing. Mark pushes around a few crumbs on the make shift coffee table (consisting of a couple milk crates and a piece of scrap wood) as he watches from the corner of his eye.

"Maur?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh… are you… alright?"

She scrunches her face, cocking her head to the side. "That's a loaded question," she giggles softly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… you've been getting headaches a lot lately. And you've been in the bathroom a lot. So I was just wondering…"

"Wondering what?" she snaps, not meaning to, but it just comes out like that.

"If, I don't know, you wanted to go down to the clinic. Get it checked out."

"I've been," she replies, settling back on the couch, avoiding his eyes.

"And?" he asks, staring back at her. She's hiding something, he can tell.

Yeah, he knows her that well.

"It's uh… it's nothing. I'm fine."

"Maur."

She bites her lip, trying her hardest not to look at him but he looks at her with those big blue puppy dog eyes and she can't lie to him. He knows. She knows he knows. Roger knows he knows. Mark knows she knows he knows.

"What?"

"You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Heaving a sigh, her lip trembles and she bites it hard, looking down at her lap. She lifts her gaze to meet his and slowly nods, giving in to him. "Yeah, I am."

"Congratulations…?" he asks, nibbling on the corner of his lip as well.

"Thanks," she nods. "It's only been six weeks. I didn't want to say anything yet. Please don't tell anyone. And don't tell Roger you know. He wanted to tell you."

"I won't," he shakes his head. "But so you know, I'm here for you. If you need anything. Clothes, food, money…"

"Thank you," she nods again, reaching her hand out to him.

He takes it and squeezes gently, though it's killing him. She's having a baby with his best friend. The woman he wants to marry is having Roger's baby. They're so young and Mark's so alone.

Alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Roger sighs softly as he plucks the cigarette from his lips, letting the smoke fall out and litter the sky. It's a deep blue – the sky – his favorite blue, speckled with brilliant diamonds staring back at him. There's something about the sky he loves. Maybe it's the fact that there's something bigger than him, bigger than everyone, maybe it's the mystery, maybe it's the color, but whatever it is, he finds himself fascinated and the roof of the loft is his favorite place to be, especially at night when Maureen's either puking or sleeping, neither of which she's in the mood to do with him right now. He doesn't care too much, though. She's having his baby.

"Hey."

Mark stumbles up the steps behind him, panting slightly, clutching his camera as usual.

"Look at the sky, Mark," he commands, pointing up towards it.

"Yeah, it's uh, nice, Rog," Mark nods, rubbing his hands together. "Is that why you asked me to come up? Show me the sky?"

"Isn't it fascinating?"

Mark looks at Roger curiously. Roger's never been very sentimental and this is probably the closest to it he's ever been with Mark.

"Sure," he nods. "It's kinda cold, don't you think?"

"Nah, it's nice," Roger smiles, dropping his smoke and scuffing it out with his boot. "Especially for October."

"Yeah, alright," Mark nods, shivering. "So you wanted to talk?"

"I mean, look at that. There's something out there and it's bigger than me and bigger than you and bigger than us and it's always going to be there, no matter what we do."

Mark scrunches his face and studies the midnight backdrop as if he's missing something. Roger's going on and on about something slightly philosophical and Mark can't find it. "You been hanging out with Collins?"

"Mark, I'm uh… Maureen and I… we're… having a baby."

Mark is quiet for a moment – he knows, Maureen told him. But he has to act surprised, so he throws on the best face he can. "Wow. Congratulations! That's… that's great," he lies.

"Mark," Roger continues. "I uh… you think I'm ready for this?"

He studies Roger's face for a moment and for the first time in his life, behind that smile, he sees something in Roger's eyes. Fear. Roger's never afraid.

Mark has no idea what to tell Roger. No, he's not fucking ready. He's twenty two. Who has a baby at twenty two and is ready for it? Roger doesn't have a job, Maureen's just finished college. They live in this shit hole with three other people. Three other people who, while a baby would be cute, would love to sleep through the nights. The damn walls are so thin, no one's gonna sleep for months. Maureen loves going out partying and Roger's got his gigs. Who's gonna watch the kid when they want to go out? Mark's not sure which would be worse: a cranky sleep-deprived lactating Maureen or a cranky sleep-deprived sober Roger. There'd be no more smoking or drinking around the baby.

"Yeah, Rog," Mark nods, smiling. "I do."

"Good," he sighs, relieved. "I'm scared Mark. I don't know if I'll be good at this."

_Me either._

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Mark replies, nodding.

"Thanks Mark," Roger sighs, grabbing onto Mark and pulling him into a hug. "I knew if you thought I could do it, I'd be alright."

Mark is slightly surprised by this gesture but slowly moves his arms around Roger as well. "Yeah. I know everything," he chuckled nervously.

"Well, don't get cocky, there Mark," Roger teased pulling back. He fishes back into his pocket and tugs out another cigarette, putting it between his lips, but not lighting quite yet.

Mark watches as Roger pauses and then turns to him again.

_Shit, here we go again._

"Mark."

"Yeah?"

"You're my best friend."

"You're mine, too."

"Uh, Mark… I want to… if anything happens to… to me… and Maureen… you'll… the baby…" Roger sputters.

"You want me to take the baby," he says slowly.

"Well, yeah," Roger nods, smiling softly.

Mark considers this for a while, staring out at the sky. He marvels, too, at the color and size. And just how small someone can feel in a single moment and yet… so big. Godfather. Mark's going to be the baby's godfather.

"You know, this doesn't mean you get to dump the kid with me whenever you feel like it. I'm not your permanent babysitter."

Roger grins from ear to ear before pulling Mark into a hug again, clapping his back excitedly. "Thanks, Mark. Maureen and I talked a long time and decided it should be you."

"Yeah, yeah," Mark shakes his head before pulling the cigarette from Roger's lips. "Who else were you considering? Certainly not Benny…"

"You stole my cig," he laughs. "You don't smoke."

"I know," Mark sighs, holding his hand out expectantly. "And you can't much longer."

"I know. I'm trying to quit…"

"Don't lie," Mark laughs.

"Shut up. Uncle Marky…"

"Don't."

"Uncle Marky…"

"Roger, I'm serious."

"Maaaaaaarky… with his baby bib all covered in puke."

"That'd be you, Dad."

"Uncle Marky…"


	6. Chapter 6

"How about Katherine?"

Maureen wrinkles her face at him, her fingers tangled in a ball of yarn. She'd been trying to figure out how to knit for the past hour or so. 'I want to make socks,' she told Roger, who didn't understand why they couldn't just buy socks, especially since he wasn't thrilled with the idea of Maureen and needles. She'd managed to assemble something that looked like it might be able to keep a couple of toes warm and was quite proud of herself.

"You want to call our baby Kathy?" she asks, giving him one of her looks.

Roger loves Maureen's looks, even if it is her death glare. She's fucking adorable.

"What's wrong with Kathy?"

"What's wrong with Kathy? Everything! No, absolutely not."

Roger sighs as he continues to flip through the flimsy blue book Collins had checked out of the school library and sent over once Maureen had told him the news. So far, Maureen had found something wrong with every name in the damn book, though.

"We could call her Katie," he suggests.

"Everyone's named Katie," she sighs, frowning at the yellow mess in front of her. "Everyone's named Jessica. Everyone's named Emily."

"Yeah?" Roger asks, not seeing the problem.

"Our baby is not going to be like everyone else. She will be unique so she needs a unique name."

"And what if it's a he?" Roger asks, smirking at her as he scans over a few of the M names.

"He, she, whatever it is," she fusses, before gasping.

"What? Did you poke yourself again?" he asks, walking over towards the couch.

"No! I referred to our baby as an it!" she exclaims, clamping a hand over her mouth. "I'm going to be a bad mother."

"No, you're not," Roger shakes his head, kneeling down beside her.

She's been sort of crazy lately, saying things like this. Everything upsets her and she's tired all of the time. The morning sickness isn't letting up either and she's burying herself in strange projects… like trying to knit, which only frustrates her more.

"Roger," she whimpers softly, reaching her arms out towards him.

Roger is quick to scoop her up in his arms, dropping the baby name book on the couch beside her, and settling down with her in his lap. He holds her close, arms wrapping around her as she drops her knitting mess and clings to him. His thin calloused fingers comb back through her curls as she tucks her head under his chin.

"We don't have to name the baby right now," he murmurs softly, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

"We do," she argues. "I can't call it an it."

He thinks for a moment, trying to come up with something quick to satisfy his hormonally charged girlfriend.

"What if we just call the baby 'baby' for now? We can decide on names later, alright?"

She considers this for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright," she agrees, sighing softly.

"Okay," he smiles.

Roger one, hormones – zero.

"Are you hungry? I'll make lunch."

"Sure," she says, sliding out of his lap and heading towards the bathroom. Making a fist, she knocks loudly, crossing her legs a bit.

"One second!"

"I don't have a second!" she shouts back.

"I'll be quick!"

She sighs uncomfortably, scooching slightly. Her fingers tap against the door lightly while she impatiently waits. "Benny!"

"I'm going as fast as I can, Mo! You're not the only one with needs."

She lets out a frustrated growl before grabbing hold of the doorknob and ripping it open.

"Christ, Maureen!" Benny shouts, hurrying to zip his jeans. "Other people have to pee, too!"

"Well, other people are not carrying a baby!" she shouts back, hands on her jeans, ready to pull them down. "You gonna move or am I going to have to pee in the shower?"

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" he grumbles, trudging out as she drops her pants. "You couldn't wait till I shut the door?"

Maureen lets out a sigh as she sits, causing Benny to grumble under his breath before slamming the door.

"We need to do something about that," Benny fusses, buckling his belt.

"That is my girlfriend," Roger replies, raising his eyebrows at Benny. "And what exactly do you propose we do?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, walking into the kitchen. "Cut her off from all liquids. That'd help. Or get her a bucket."

Roger stifles a laugh as he dumped a box of mac and cheese into a pot on the stove. "Benjamin, be nice. Or she'll kick your ass."

"She? The pregnant lady?" he scoffs, pulling the fridge open. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm not kidding. That woman is fierce. Especially with all those hormones."

Benny shivers slightly at the mention of hormones as he shuts the door again. "There is nothing to eat in this house."

"There never is. Shouldn't you be used to it by now?"

He shrugs as he drops down onto the couch, yelping slightly. "What the fuck is this?" he asks, pulling out the fuzzy mess of yellow.

"Those are knitting needles. And those are socks," Roger pointed out slowly.

"What the fuck are they doing on the couch?" he asks, continuing to pull shit out from underneath him. "A baby name book?"

"Maur was knitting," Roger points out, stirring the noodles.

"She knits?" he asks, bewildered. "That woman has no patience for anything and she knits?"

"Yes, I knit," she grumbles, her hands resting on her hips as she exits the bathroom.

Benny smiles sheepishly, dropping the needle onto the couch beside him as he picks up the book. "Where'd this come from anyway?"

"Collins sent it," she replies, sneaking up behind Roger and wrapping her arms around him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder blade.

His thick fingers began flipping through the yellowed pages, scanning the names as he went. "You got any picked out yet?"

"Roger likes Katherine," she teases, poking him in the ribs.

"Katherine?" Benny asks, wrinkling his nose. "And call her Kathy?"

"It was just a suggestion!" he shouts, shaking his head as he drains the pasta.

"Get a better suggestion. Everyone's named Katherine."

"See? Told ya," Maureen giggles.

"Yeah, hush," he laughs, kissing her nose. "I made you lunch. Love me."

"I do, very much."


End file.
